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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556321">Unravelled</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gavvin/pseuds/gavvin'>gavvin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Half-Life, Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Black Mesa Sweet Voice, Fluff, Gordon has a mini panic attack, Half-Life VR But the AI is Self-Aware, Heat Stroke, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Tenderness, ok scratch that its heavy angst now, unreality</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:07:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,547</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gavvin/pseuds/gavvin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gordon's hair comes undone, as does his composure. Benrey fixes one of those problems.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benrey/Gordon Freeman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>650</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Unravelled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not sure if I made it clear enough in the fic itself, but this takes place after the military cuts Gordon's arm off and they're on the surface. Some time after Benrey yells Gordon Feetman and gets punted off a cliff :) Love wins</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They've all been through so much, an impossible amount of fresh trauma resting thick and oppressive over every look they share, no matter how many light-hearted quips they make to push it back. And yet, possibilities of dying at the hands of the military are spoken with relative ease, which Gordon supposes is bound to happen after one is forced to adapt to such inevitabilities.</p><p>Which is why he crumbles at the first slither of normalcy that trickles into his week.</p><p>Underneath a rocky overhang shielded from the threat of blinding heat and airstrikes, Gordon's hair tie snaps. And it feels unbelievably good to have a problem that cannot be solved with gunfire, or puzzle solving, or amputation. In fact, on the fringe of a seemingly endless desert and a defunct research facility, it can't be solved at all.</p><p>His lips spread into a smile as he stares at it, limp and curled into an "S" shape in the sand. Unsure if it's the blood loss blowing every mundane issue out of proportion, or if he's just genuinely that upset over his hair spilling out over his shoulders, he cries. It doesn't start like it usually does (pushing up over a painful lump in his throat, extremities twitching involuntarily at the strain of keeping his emotions on lock), so he doesn't realise he's slipped up until he feels eyes boring into the back of his skull.</p><p>"Woah, are you crying?"</p><p>The lack of a teasing lilt to the voice makes him jump more than the realisation that he's not alone. The others had gone ahead looking for a way up the cliffside. He didn't realise Benrey hadn't gone with them.</p><p>Actually, it doesn't seem that surprising that he stayed. His fixation had always been on Gordon, not them— the security guard wouldn't even be trailing after their group if not for the passport-less MIT graduate leading them.</p><p>"Yeah. I think so." Comes Gordon's too-late matter-of-fact reply, lacking his signature combative humiliation, tired eyes still fixated on the band as they overflow with a warmth and wetness that he makes no effort to stop. He's about to make an attempt at justifying himself before Benrey interrupts that train of thought.</p><p>"Is it 'cause of your hair?" It's probing, but coloured with a feeling Gordon can't quite place. Interest? Sympathy? If Benrey feels sympathy over a fucking hair tie but not everything else they've been through, Gordon might just snap in two, both mentally and physically. His chest feels strangely heavy when he exhales and turns his head, expecting to see raised eyebrows and a cruel smirk.</p><p>He's met only with confusion suited more to a child than an unfathomable inhuman being.</p><p>"I… guess so? It's— I think that was the straw that broke the Gordon's back. But it's not like I haven't cried before, like, you saw when I—"</p><p>"You uh… want me to fix it?"</p><p>What?</p><p>It takes Gordon a second to process the words. Benrey is met with a frown when he does. It isn't unkind, just… lost. Almost defensive, offended— like he's impatiently waiting for Benrey to finish the joke. Hearing him speak with such wholehearted honesty has always been frustrating for the few times he's witnessed it, and now it's serving a secondary purpose of making him cry even harder.</p><p>"Yo, okay, I won't touch your hair, bro. Looks gross anyway."</p><p>"N-no. No you can… fix it? Is that what you said? Are you going to seal the rubber band back together with your fucked up mind powers?"</p><p>Benrey snorts.</p><p>"No way. I'm gonna braid your hair with my 'fucked up mind powers'."</p><p>Gordon has to blink to get the gears in his brain turning again, as Benrey's sentence manages to cause him to completely shut down. The expression he's seeing is unreadable with an air of smugness he's come to expect from him. Though it'd be wrong to call it unkind. It's more… fond? Certainly teasing, but drenched in loving familiarity as a wide grin stretches over sallow cheeks. Gritting his teeth, Gordon finds he both adores and hates it.</p><p>Christ, "adore" is too strong of a word. Slow it down, Freeman.</p><p>"I— yeah? I guess this might as well happen?" His phantom hand reaches to rub the tears from his eyes, and he flinches when nothing makes contact with his cheek. His real and only fingers move to take care of them instead. "Don't make me bald or some shit, hair is the only thing I've got left. Hair, and my left arm."</p><p>Slowly, carefully, Benrey puts a hand forward to pull himself closer, breaking his lazy sitting position to slouch forward on his knees. That position is resumed once he's near enough to Gordon's back, and very reluctantly, the scientist turns his head away to make Benrey's trip worthwhile. Almost immediately he feels something cold run over his scalp.</p><p>At first he incorrectly assumes it to be liquid, but it turns out Benrey's hands are just that freezing. The way he shudders isn't stifled, nor is the way Benrey snorts in gentle amusement. As if experimenting, he runs his digits through Gordon's hair again, this time putting the slightest hint of pressure against the back of his head with each digit splayed out. Is this what a massage feels like? Gordon has never been on the receiving end of one. Tingling coolness meets growing warmth as he realises it's suddenly very hard to breathe.</p><p>"Quit fucking around." False anger doesn't mask how impatiently whiny he sounds, much to his dismay. Benrey just lets out another one of those infuriating snorts.</p><p>"... 's just nice to touch you, bro."</p><p>Gordon lets out a very undignified grunt of surprise at that.</p><p>Eventually wandering hands find themselves falling into a pattern, pulling easily through sweaty strands of dark auburn despite how long it's been since they were last brushed. Sections are parted neatly with a deliberate slowness that doesn't seem to stem from inexperience. It's more like Benrey is savouring his own movement— or perhaps he's just afraid of tugging too hard on Gordon's hair? As if he hasn't hurt him countless times before. A fact still sitting at the forefront of his mind.</p><p>Still.</p><p>Between the lingering compliment and the soft feeling of closeness, it takes everything in Gordon's power to keep from squirming.</p><p>"Where'd you even learn to do this?"</p><p>Benrey shrugs despite being out of view. Somehow, Gordon feels it.</p><p>"You're being uncharacteristically quiet."</p><p>Another shrug.</p><p>"Gotta focus. You're gonna make me fuck it up."</p><p>A heavy exhale leaves Gordon's nostrils, stump of an arm moving to pinch the bridge of his nose, but quickly falling back into his lap. It occurs to him that he's going to have to explain this to the others along with the incriminating shade of pink dusting his cheeks. The thought sends him right back to middle school, even if he does not like Benrey in that way— in fact, now that he thinks about it, the only reason he's acting so childishly needy is because he's touch starved, which is arguably more pathetic than having a crush at twenty-seven.</p><p>His train of thought slams straight into a wall when Benrey's fingers brush with the back of his neck.</p><p>"Mmn—"</p><p>Thankfully, Benrey doesn't call attention to the sound, which is a rare act of mercy in tune with how considerate he's been for the past… how long have they been sitting together in near silence? And why is Gordon no longer tense? Paired with the scorching heat, the weight of his HEV suit, and the lack of blood in his body, he feels like he's going to either die or pass out, falling backwards to crush Benrey before he's even finished plaiting.</p><p>The only thing keeping him conscious before was his stress, and now it's his internal desperation to feel more of Benrey's hands threading through his hair. Which is a result of loneliness, of course. Nothing else.</p><p>They settle into a routine of Benrey pulling a section of hair over another and tying it back around, Gordon humming in approval while the plait is pulled taut. Occasionally Benrey will run his fingers over his scalp sending little shivers of pleasure down Gordon's spine, the way he arches it making it very difficult to continue each time.</p><p>At one point he doesn't continue at all, leaving Gordon to bite back a soft pleading sound at the back of his throat.</p><p>"Okay, I'm done. You're welcome, friend."</p><p>Gordon opens his mouth to thank him, before he's cut off by the feeling of Benrey's lips against the back of his neck paired with an exaggerated "smooch!". They're only there for a second, but it's enough to feel like a million warm pinpricks of concentrated sunlight, dragging out a squeal he didn't even know he could make. The little blood he has left travels up to his face and hangs there in blissful limbo. The blaring mesa sunlight begins to ripple and spin with the sand into one thick slurry of colour, and Gordon is certain he can hear his own blood moving through his veins.</p><p>Inexplicably, he doesn't pass out. Nor does he die. What he does is wobble and sway until he falls back into Benrey's lap with a thud the guard doesn't react to, bleary eyes unfocused as they try to catch his saviour's own, jaw slackened and chest heaving like he's on the verge of internal collapse.</p><p>"Thhhank? You? F'r doing…"</p><p>"Woah, haha. You're all fucked up."</p><p>Indeed, Gordon is all fucked up.</p><p>"Do I look pretty now?" The physicist slurs.</p><p>He's almost certain he can make out the shape of a pale thumbs up before his vision blackens entirely, followed by a sharp ringing replacing most of his hearing. He's warm, though. Very warm. It's as if Benrey's little gesture managed to replace all of the unbearable, sweaty heat under his HEV suit with tingling waves of comfort. Comfort? He isn't comfortable. Appreciative, maybe, but it's not as if he's going to… let his guard down while… </p><p>In his daze, it's impossible to recall what he was worried about. The cool fabric of Benrey's sleeves is more than enough to sedate him further and he curses the clunky suit he's trapped in for keeping him from feeling more. He can sense it buzzing against every inch of his body below the neck. He briefly wonders if Benrey enjoys how it hums against him, or if he'd prefer Gordon without it. What does Benrey look like without his uniform? Is he even tangible?</p><p>Though half deaf, he manages to make out a mumble of, "Shut up, you're ruining the vibe." Was he saying all of that out loud?</p><p>He murmurs an unintelligible apology, finally letting his mind slip into a soft air of nothingness with Benrey's words convincing him to go entirely lax. He shouldn't, but he feels safe. Like having freshly braided hair has solved every problem he's ever had, and he's unable to do anything but focus on who helped him reach the first moment of peace in his time here.</p><p>A quiet part of him is undeniably furious and his stomach is churching with anxious nausea, but if he has no strength to move and Benrey doesn't seem to mind him being here, what other options does he have? Part of him is too scared to move, lest he risk breaking the spell.</p><p>A bend forms in Gordon's lips as something light and fuzzy bumps against his nose. </p><p>"Cerulean sleep beam."</p><p>Smooth, melodic singing fills what's left of his hearing and a cold hand presses against his cheek, and Gordon can swear he feels the sensation of a thumb rolling over his cheekbone. Chest rising and falling beneath his HEV suit in time with the lullaby, he slips into unconsciousness.</p><p>But he's certain he feels icy fingers intertwine with his own before he fades.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Listen I thought it'd be really funny if Gordon passed out at the first taste of a kind gesture and everything spiralled from there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Unhinged</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Once again, Gordon is in need of a helping hand. And a change of clothes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THANK YOU FOR THE OVERWHELMING SUPPORT IN THE LAST CHAPTER!! I NEVER EXPECTED ANYONE TO READ THIS… I'm going through a really rough time at the moment but this is helping exponentially :') The first chapter was meant to be a standalone fic but alas I have continued it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A semicircle of scientists gathered metres away from a sealed-off door is causing Gordon to lose hope in just about everything. The sickly sweet smell of rot burns his nostrils each time he inhales, and the first pangs of starvation are starting to hit whenever he moves. But the true source of his misery can be attributed to the guard perched upon an array of steel crates on the far side of the room, butting in every so often with increasingly unhelpful ideas. They've fallen into the comedic routine of an old married couple with how often Gordon is unable to simply ignore him.</p><p>"What? I can't just… just take it off. It doesn't unlatch like that." He scoffs, making sure to emphasise his words in a bid to make Benrey feel stupid. Knock him down a few pegs.</p><p>"Whaaaat? Yeah it does."</p><p>"Oh, yeah? When did you become a theoretical physicist?"</p><p>"Hahaaaa, this dude doesn't know how to take off his hev suit." For once, the purposeful mispronunciation makes him seethe rather than giggle.</p><p>"Actually, fucker—"</p><p>A gentle cough steals his attention.</p><p>"Gordon, I do believe the man is right. The Hazardous Environment Suit unlatches with a series of buttons and switches located in various places around the wearer's body. I trust you remember the order in which to activate them?"</p><p>Holding back an unsteady sigh, Gordon lets his eyes fall shut as his teeth grind together with the little energy he has left. Nobody needs to know that he was betting on the others not knowing how the suit works, because Gordon might have forgotten how to get out of it the moment he put it on. Why'd Coomer have to sell him out like that? Narrowed eyes are shot in the shorter scientist's direction, to which he responds with nothing more than a fluttering of eyelashes and a widening of his already mocking smile. Not like it's mocking on purpose, he reasons. He's already furious with Benrey, he doesn't need to start beefing with Coomer.</p><p>Which is a bad idea anyway, seeing as he's built enough to effortlessly punt Gordon over to the next state if he saw fit.</p><p>"... I don't feel like taking it off."</p><p>"Mister Freeman, I don't think it's sanitary to be in there for so long… i-it goes against our "Black Mesa HEV Safety Guidelines"."</p><p>Ah, Tommy. Oblivious, oh-so-helpful Tommy. A glimpse into his mind and the genuine look of concern in his features manages to pull Gordon back from whatever stress fuelled rant he was about to spew in the team's direction, leaving him too defeated to do anything but groan and pinch the bridge of his nose. </p><p>"A little Trench Foot never hurt anyone!" Bubby exclaims. Nobody has the mind to refute him aside from Coomer, who mutters something about the first world war under his breath. "If you're going to be a little bitch about it, go have a shower!"</p><p>"What? No! The level 3 dormitories are on the other side of the facility. And the trams aren't even running." Admittedly a shower would help both his mental and physical health tremendously, but he isn't traversing back nine hours for a bar of soap. Not to mention the HEV dilemma. Apparently he’s the only one who doesn’t know how to free himself from its steadily rusting confines. Whatever.</p><p>Worn joints creak in protest as he claws his way into a standing position, attempting to make the way he leans against the wall seem purposeful, and not like he'd collapse in a heap without it.</p><p>"Just use the showers down the hall, idiot." Benrey yawns.</p><p>What? Now he’s just fucking with him.</p><p>"... Why are there showers here?"</p><p>"I dunno. Why are you so stupid?"</p><p>Gordon can't really argue with that. </p><p>His fingers work to massage his brow as he tries to form a concrete plan of action. They shouldn't even be resting in the first place, much less showering—it's entirely possible that their lack of progress is detrimental to the survival of so many others, and that every moment they dawdle, another fluctuation rips apart topside. </p><p>It's something often theorised about. Portal storms. His throat suddenly feels very dry.</p><p>"Okay. Fine. We're close to Cybernetics, right? I should probably clean out my arm, anyway." He reasons. "Is everyone okay with me having a shower? Does anyone else want one?"</p><p>"My body hasn't been capable of breaking into a sweat for five years!" Coomer explains proudly, the rest of the scientists chipping in with similarly bizarre excuses that Gordon is in no mood to dispute. This has only discouraged him from holding up their expedition just to clean himself, but the mental images of Trench Foot and the temptation of warm running water are enough to turn him back around. Which he realises is selfish. He'll dedicate his dwindling mental energy to feeling guilty later.</p><p>The only issue with his master plan is that Benrey is the only person willing to lead him to the showers, and the only person who also, apparently, knows how to remove an HEV suit.</p><p>Gordon shoots him a nervous glance, and Benrey returns it with a sly wink.</p><p>Before he can reconsider, the security guard is pushing himself off of his impromptu pedestal, boots clicking against the concrete flooring in such a way that Gordon physically jumps backwards. A muttering of "Come on, follow me," and "Baby boy can't take off his own HEV suit," falling under his breath but not under Gordon's radar. The reasonable part of his mind states that he could just stay here without showering and without having to follow behind Benrey like a sad, stray dog with little consequences—though the more needy part says otherwise. The part that reminds him of the braid bumping against his neck every time he turns his head.</p><p>Reluctantly, he pushes himself off the wall, and follows closely behind through the dingy hallways with his own quiet mantra of insults.<br/>________</p><p>After much arguing, they make it to a blackened room with a door bent off its hinges, Benrey fumbling for the light switch to flood the scene with a bright, flickering glare. Rows of beaten up lockers stand awash with oxidised blood and various other fluids Gordon can't put any names to, something looking suspiciously like an amputated hand decaying on the centre bench. In an effort to keep himself grounded, Gordon thrums his fingers against the hard plating of his suit. They've seen worse. He can handle grizzly sights like this.</p><p>But what he can't handle is being led to a room, alone and unarmed in a literal sense. Benrey's hand is still hovering over the light switch. Gordon's composure wavers as he wobbles on his heels, nervous anticipation burning a hole in his lungs that leaves him heaving for breath.</p><p>Benrey stares back at him wordlessly. At least that's new—he isn't making an unsettlingly grand effort to force Gordon into his trap. Which it must be, he's decided. At this point he's utterly frozen and helpless, and all Benrey does is fucking blink at him—</p><p>"I'm not gonna do anything."</p><p>His words ring with such an astounding degree of honesty that Gordon finds himself even more distressed. Because Benrey shouldn't sound like that. He should be mocking him, berating him for something out of his control. Accusing him of a crime he didn't commit. Not passing over sympathetic frowns and holding out his hand, offering it in the way a friend would after they've just seen you fall.</p><p>Luckily he can reason quickly. Which is a good thing, considering his career choice.</p><p>His conclusion results in him hesitantly reaching out his only hand, gloved fingers interlocking with Benrey's own, feeling the guard press their palms tight with an unchanging stare. Before Gordon has time to process how nice it feels to be touched again, he's being dragged forward past the boundary of the doorway into a separate, similarly dishevelled back area. With three undamaged showers. One trickles with a steady drip of suspiciously clean looking water. A half empty bottle of shower gel spills out through the cracks in the tile.</p><p>So Benrey wasn't lying. That's new.</p><p>"You want me to help you get out of that thing? 'Cause you can't do it on your own, or something." The question pulls Gordon from his growing cacophony of an internal panic attack. Processing what was said takes longer than it should, and he blames the fact that their hands are still neatly intertwined. It’s also then that he notices he’s been squeezing Benrey’s hand harder than either of them must be comfortable with, even if the guard doesn’t let it show in his face. Or his voice. Or anything, for that matter.</p><p>"I-I mean, I don't know if I can reach all the buttons with one arm, so… yeah? You owe me this, anyway. I'm making you do this. Do not chalk this up to you doing me a favour." Smooth.</p><p>Benrey responds with an honest to god giggle.</p><p>Stood in complete silence under a buzzing fluorescent light, Benrey separates their hands and leans in to run his fingers over the grimy front panel of the suit, leaving Gordon to breathe through his teeth and blink in rapid succession, foreign warmth stirring up his insides. He's careful about it, Gordon notes, movements as slow and deliberate as they were when braiding his hair. Which still sounds ridiculous in his head.</p><p>Wandering digits find purchase in the centre of Gordon's chest, pushing against a button that causes his suit to hiss and unlatch at the sides. The damaged built-in microphone says something too garbled for either of them to understand, but Benrey takes it as encouragement to keep going.</p><p>For once in his life of theorizing and formula, Gordon doesn’t know what to think. It isn’t the first time he’s had to wrack his brain for a conclusion, of course, but he doesn’t usually have to spend so long coming up with the conundrum itself. His stomach blooms hotly again when Benrey crouches and hooks both thumbs around either side of his waist. It’s not a stretch to say he’s being manhandled right now. Nor is it a stretch to say that Gordon’s glowing, lightly perspired expression suggests he’s enjoying it.</p><p>It occurs to him that all he's been doing is swaying dumbfounded and mute while the person he (probably) hates does all the work of freeing him from his metal prison. Gordon remedies this by fumbling over the HEV suit himself, trying to make his movements seem as purposeful as possible to avoid being outdone by Benrey. Someone who has most likely never touched a high-tech suit like this and is acting on luck.</p><p>Their hands brush on more than one occasion, Gordon biting back a strangled grunt each time.</p><p>Eventually, he pushes a tab along the back of his neck, and the front panel unlatches completely. Together they soon unlock the lower half, then the extremities, leaving Gordon scrambling to pull himself free from slickened, uncomfortable kevlar. He yelps as he slips without the use of one arm—but Benrey catches him by his shoulder with the ease of a trained professional. Icy hands that Gordon has begun to associate with safety run down to his elbow, holding him there, peeling sticky fabric from bloodied cloth. The weight leaving his shoulders feels good enough to make him sob, even if the pain from sliding it off his mangled right arm is still thrumming.</p><p>His forehead rests against Benrey's shoulder as his hand finds purchase around his hip. Only so he can stay upright. Not because it feels heart-wrenchingly blissful to be caught up in a makeshift hug.</p><p>All too soon, he's kicking off the shoes of the suit, and Benrey is pushing him backwards. He glances over to the floor to save himself from whimpering.</p><p>Gordon knows he'll be back in the radiation gear in half an hour, but in this moment, he can pretend his liberty is eternal. He can't believe he ever dared to complain about their dress code's ridiculous ties when the fucking HEV suit exists. Hard metal clatters to the tile floor with the industrial fabric around the suit's middle crumbling in a satisfyingly undignified manner—if Gordon was alone, he'd probably flip it off.</p><p>Speaking of which.</p><p>"Uh. Thank you. Really." Expressing gratitude is difficult at the best of times. Thankfully, Benrey doesn't seem to care about his clear apprehension, giving him a thumbs up in favour of words. His gaze has settled over Gordon's torso, pupils flickering up and down like he's trying to solve a challenging puzzle. The concentration burned into the curves of his face would suggest so.</p><p>"You got clothes under there?" Benrey finally tuts, and Gordon makes a series of horrible connections in an instant.</p><p>"Benrey, did you think you were helping me get naked? Did you think I'd let you—you know what? Never mind. It's fine. I don't care." He does care. If Benrey was anyone else, he'd challenge them. But unfortunately for his desire for closure and understanding, Benrey can't hold a conversation for more than a minute before forgetting why he was talking in the first place. A part of Gordon finds this endearing. He will not pay attention to this part of himself for the rest of his life, thank you very much.</p><p>Truthfully, Gordon is quite the contrasting sight without his suit. Not much shorter, still taller than Benrey by a good few inches—but having the awkward, extended panels removed clears up the shape of his body. He's definitely a scientist and not a track runner, that's for sure, but his shoulders are broader than one would expect from someone with such soft facial features. Though drenched in sweat the suit has kept his uniform remarkably clean, save for the number of major lacerations around his limbs, which have bled into the blue of his shirt to match the red of his tie. Beige khakis complete his unfashionable look of "Extremely Divorced Geography Teacher", punctuated by how his dress shirt is neatly tucked into his pants.</p><p>Gordon ignores the unending stare and leans back to stretch, moaning in a mixture of relief and exhaustion. He reminds himself to not get too comfortable, because he's definitely going to pass out otherwise. Again.</p><p>Benrey's eyes shift as soon as Gordon tries to meet them, cheeks dusted with colour. Facts that he doesn't want to analyse right now.</p><p>Even less so when a wisp of hot pink is coughed into his hand between bouts of strained singing.</p><p>"I'm going to shower now. If you watch me, I'll kill you."</p><p>"Yeah? What if I help scrub you down?"</p><p>"I'll kill you harder." Not like he can, but the sentiment is still met. The imagery is unwelcome and shoved to the back of his brain with a firm shake of his head.</p><p>By some miracle Benrey actually does take the hint, though they come to the agreement that the guard will watch the door to save Gordon from being jumped while naked. A promise Gordon isn’t taking at face value through Benrey’s own misdoings. </p><p>When he’s sure he’s safe from eager eyes, he hooks his thumb into the knot of his tie, and begins to strip down with an elongated sigh.<br/>________</p><p>He’s surprised this place still has running water. It’s lukewarm, but it’s water nonetheless, running the length of his body as he leans into a glass panel. Beggars can’t be choosers—even more so at the end of the world. The words hang heavy in the air despite them being said internally.</p><p>The end of the world. Gordon Freeman brought about the end of the world.</p><p>Rationality reminds him that it could’ve been anyone in the test chamber that day, and it isn’t his fault the anti-mass spectrometer was boosted to levels it couldn’t handle. But he could’ve said something, right? He knew it was risky. He could have argued to stop the dangerous sample’s insertion at the cost of his job, could have saved so many lives, so many futures—</p><p>Maybe if he had called in sick like he planned to, he wouldn’t be drowning in guilt. Maybe someone more equipped to save the facility would be in his position, or maybe that person wouldn’t have let the test commence in the first place.</p><p>He’d be dead without the HEV suit.</p><p>He doesn’t want to put it back on.</p><p>Gordon squeezes his eyelids shut, pulling in a shuddering breath of thick, humid air. He shakes his head to pull himself back from an impossible timeline, only to stumble into the far wall, causing the metal racking holding up someone’s abandoned bar of soap to come crashing down at his feet. The sound is loud enough to light up all his nerves like sparks of electricity. He tries to suck in another breath, but finds that he can’t. The edges of his vision are too dark to make any attempts at composing himself and his throat is filled with needles.</p><p>Why isn’t he dead? Why didn’t the blast kill him? Why is he still—</p><p>
  <b>“Ahhhhhh…”</b>
</p><p>It’s far off, echoing through the tunnel he’s found himself in. But the notes are unmistakable.</p><p>
  <b>“Ahhh, ahhhhhhh…”</b>
</p><p>Aching limbs melt at his sides, a grimace he wasn’t aware of fading into something more docile. All he can focus on is how soft the atmosphere feels. How his muscles no longer burn, and his head no longer pounds. A brilliant teal green light flickers behind a cloud of mist just barely out of sight around the corner. Gordon rests his head against the wall, and despite himself, begins to hum.</p><p>He lays there for a while, just breathing. Humming. Awash with all things gentle and light. His hair spills down the back of his neck, which is a fact Gordon is suddenly very aware of. Could he ask Benrey to braid it again now that his shower has ruined it? A smile comes to his lips at the possibility of feeling that momentary bliss again.</p><p>Spread out with water thrumming over his shoulders, he wonders why he was ever so worked up in the first place.<br/>________</p><p>“I found you some new clothes. ‘Cause I’m sick of how you stink.”</p><p>“I… thanks, I guess?” Sure enough, a Black Mesa hoodie with matching sweatpants is laid neatly on the bench between them. Gordon can tell right away that they’re both a size too small (he’s a big guy, after all), but he can’t find the strength in him to care. All he feels are waves of bewildered gratefulness, shown in the way his eyes keep flickering from the clothes to Benrey’s face, searching for any signs of a joke.</p><p>When he finds nothing but the security guard’s own anxiety, he lets his shoulders go lax. But only for a split second.</p><p>Why does Benrey look so nervous? Gordon can’t recall any other time he’s seen his cheeks so full of colour, or beads of sweat against his temples. If someone like him is feeling any semblance of anxiety, then any sane person must truly be fucked.</p><p>For the second time today, he traces the subject of Benrey’s staring to his chest, droplets of water still trickling over lines of hair and scarring. Worriedly, he fidgets with the towel covering his lower half, and Benrey seems to take the hint to avert his gaze.</p><p>“Uh, well… thanks. For real. I’m probably going to sleep in these, since sleeping in my HEV suit has been uncomfortable, to say the least.”</p><p>"What's uncomfortable about it?" Benrey says a little too quickly, still struggling to find a point of visual focus that isn’t the dripping, shirtless man in front of him.</p><p>"Seriously? You're seriously going to ask me what's uncomfortable about sleeping in an overheated, heavy, metal suit?"</p><p>And then it clicks.</p><p>"Benrey, do you… do you even sleep?"</p><p>His response is a shrug that Gordon doesn’t bother to over analyse. He simply shakes his head and scoops up the bundle of fresh clothes, stolen from some poor soul’s locker, and slinks back into his newfound “get naked” area. If he spares Benrey another glance, he’s afraid he’ll see eyes laser focused on somewhere he really, really doesn’t want them.</p><p>It only takes him a minute to dry himself off and slip into the ill-fitting garments, quickly admiring himself in a split mirror before he reveals himself to an impatiently shifting Benrey.</p><p>Their walk back to the improvised safe room is filled with less arguing and more ranting, the subject happening to be the guard himself, who is disinterestedly and effortlessly carrying the beaten-up HEV suit under one arm. Gordon’s steps are purposefully delayed in an obvious bid to air out his thoughts before they reach the unhelpful input of the rest of the Science Team.</p><p>"Benrey, I don't— I don't know anything about you. Literally fucking anything. I know at least a little bit about every other member of this group, vague as it may be, but you— is Benrey even your real name?"</p><p>Gordon finds he can't read the expression he's faced with, stopping in his tracks to force Benrey into turning around and doing the same. It's that same stoic, thin-mouthed stare he always gets, except something about the guard's lips seems tighter. Paler. Sealed shut with a force that should be making him visibly tremble.</p><p>"... 's none of your business." It's so unnatural, the way the syllables fall into place, that it makes Gordon physically flinch and scrunch up his nose like he's witnessed something unpleasant. A lazy blink comes. Then another, far sooner than it should have. Is Benrey forcing himself to blink?</p><p>Apparently they've been locked in their staring contest for longer than Benrey can tolerate, because his next move is to avert his gaze and raise his heel as if he's planning on leaving. Gordon should let him. He wants to let him go so he doesn't have to think about him for the five minutes he'll be alone.</p><p>But some vulnerable, lonely part of him reaches out a hand that rests firmly on Benrey's shoulder.</p><p>"Just give me something? Anything?" His desperation speaks. The guard twitches.</p><p>It's the first time he's seen Benrey actually react to being touched, which Gordon will admit he does too often.</p><p>When you're part of a team in an apocalypse, you build unbreakable bonds to survive. So it's only natural that Gordon would want, need, to reach out to Benrey like he's dying. It's a rational, human response, that takes so much effort to suppress into something normal. He would go these lengths for anyone. Benrey isn’t a special case, he reminds himself.</p><p>"I, uh, I got a PS3. Yeah."</p><p>The relief that floods Gordon’s chest is enough to make him crumple with a laugh that sounds like it’s been punched out of him.</p><p>That’s Benrey’s go-to when asked about himself? His PS3? It’s so endearingly human. The kind of answer one would expect from a teenager in counselling. Something that helps them understand each other on some level.</p><p>"Oh, you're a gamer?" Words he never thought would leave his mouth do just that. He physically flinches at himself, but his smile doesn’t fade. "That's… actually, that's exactly what I expected somehow. Nice."</p><p>They stand there for a moment, locked in tense silence, neither of them knowing how to progress such a forced conversation. Benrey has never shown so much emotion in all the time Gordon has known him, and all he’s doing is staring wide-eyed at the far wall. He clears his throat before he can speak again.</p><p>“I like… fuckin’, uh… John Wick. The movies. Good shit.” He says, signature coolness undercut by something adjacent to insecurity. Gordon opens his mouth to reply, “You wouldn’t get it.”</p><p>Gordon wouldn’t get liking a popular movie franchise? As intriguing as this conversation is, it’s equal levels of infuriating. Benrey is buzzing with poorly concealed panic. He can practically hear the sounds of his cogs turning as he tries to leap to a new topic that doesn’t concern his identity, something to deter Gordon from prying where he shouldn’t.</p><p>He knows what's coming next. He's spent enough time around him to know the word that's going to be thrown carelessly in his direction to push him away, an insane defence mechanism that, unfortunately, works in just the way he wants it to. It's one of two things, and Gordon is gearing himself up to face both head on.</p><p>"Hug?"</p><p>Smiling, Gordon immediately opens his arms— an invitation—and Benrey tilts his head after the longest pause of their shared lives.</p><p>Neither of them dare to move.</p><p>With the perseverance of a corpse, he lets his limbs fall back to his sides as his cheeks burn with shame and humiliation. It'd make sense to quip about how Benrey isn't taking the opportunity to have his feelings reciprocated, and how he looks stupid when his expression is suspended in frozen anxiety, but instead he finds himself at a complete loss for words. All he can do is keep himself from visibly trembling in anger at Benrey's rejection.</p><p>Of course it had been a joke, which is exactly why Gordon hadn't taken the bait before— not like the bait was very alluring in the first place. What doesn't make sense is why it's taking so long for Benrey to snap back with a clever remark to dispel the tension boiling between them.</p><p>As if reading Gordon's mind, a smirk carves its way through the guard's cheeks as he moves to speak. But much to his horrified surprise, all that spills out between his lips is a bright waterfall of deep orange and purple, accompanied by his signature heavenly tones.</p><p>Something about how his expression melts and the way the light show comes to an abrupt stop informs him that wasn't on purpose.</p><p>Gordon isn't an idiot by most means. Theorising is kind of his speciality— meaning he doesn't need deep physical understanding of an enigma if he's equipped with empirical formulas and heuristics. The only problem is that putting those theories into practice is a little out of his educated comfort zone. He can take his subject—Benrey, being the anomaly that he is—and build theories upon how he would react to certain stimuli based on previous actions.</p><p>Every object in our universe has a set resonance. When excited by specific forms of energy of the correct frequency, it will resonate and the enormity of the vibrations will grow.</p><p>As Gordon sucks in his breath and takes a step forward, he sees Benrey's hands twitch. Once. Then twice.</p><p>When some objects resonate beyond a certain threshold, they can cause quantum events the likes of which have never been recorded.</p><p>Gordon feels the inexplicable coolness of Benrey's uniform-clad body melt into his own warmth as their atoms collide and meld, arms slipping underneath the guard's own to squeeze his torso close, the HEV suit under his arm clattering to the ground. At some point he finds his nose pressed against the clammy skin of Benrey's neck, and he inhales.</p><p>A theory. Never experienced. Never tested.</p><p>"You didn't think I was gonna do that, huh, buddy?"</p><p>His experiment finds its desired result when Benrey’s tension bleeds from his body under Gordon’s grasp. Returning his embrace. Cautiously at first, but soon becoming desperate, matching the scientist’s own embarrassing hunger. They’re existing in a timeless space, fabric against fabric, skin against skin. Gordon finds himself noticing that Benrey smells of essentially nothing, producing no body heat of his own in a way that doesn’t lessen the weight of their hug. As a test, Gordon gently squeezes his torso, finding that Benrey does the same a beat later.</p><p>He isn’t sure as to how long they’ve been holding each other like this, but he finds he wouldn’t care if he knew. It’s a moment he doesn’t want to end for as long as he’s alive.</p><p>“Can I ask something, Benrey?”</p><p>Benrey offers a mumble of affirmation without parting his lips.</p><p>“Can you braid my hair again?”<br/>________</p><p>A shower isn't going to wash off the blood of the innocent people they've slaughtered, but he'll reluctantly admit being clean has improved his mood by a fraction. Cleared his head a little. He likens it to the days he'd spend holed up in his college dormitory, pouring through notes for days on end until he's left shuddering in a pool of his own sweat—bathing was always rewarding after that. A blip of time for himself away from complicated formulas overheating his brain like an ancient machine.</p><p>"Tommy, can I ask you a question?"</p><p>"Sure, Mister Freeman! I know ever— every answer, that— I have a lot of answers to questions!"</p><p>Gordon nods unsteadily, playing with the balled-up sleeve concealing the remainder of his right arm. They’re alone, thankfully, leaning up against a vending machine battered beyond repair. Somehow not their doing.</p><p>"So, uh, that "Sweet Voice" thing… you can understand it, right? Mind translating something for me?"</p><p>Tommy's attention has wavered by this point, turned to focus on flicking the trigger of the empty pistol in his lap like a rubber band. It's… unnerving, but Gordon holds his tongue, lest he have the weapon aimed at his head.</p><p>"What does it mean when it starts out orange and turns to purple? Like, really quickly. And the voice is kinda sad?" Raising the pitch of his voice does nothing to mask his apprehension. But if Tommy has noticed anything, he isn't saying a word—most likely because he's too transfixed on entertaining himself with the switch mechanism. Gordon quietly wonders if he would appreciate the cube shaped desk toy he keeps in his dormitory.</p><p>"Orange to purple…" Click, click, click. His eyes only briefly flicker with recognition before settling back into a distant stare. "... Means I'm sorry I hurt you."</p><p>Oh. Those weren’t among the words in his extensive list of theories.</p><p>Discomfort washes over him before the rhyme even leaves Tommy's mouth, almost immediately replaced by rolling waves of uncertainty. Anxiety, even. Opening up a pit in his stomach that he doesn't know how to cover.</p><p>"A-are you sure it doesn't mean anything else? That's all it means? In any context?" There must be a misunderstanding, because the implications of the translation aren't what Gordon is mentally prepared to consider right now. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked the question in the first place, as no answer would've brought him a comfortable sense of closure. That's the main purpose of the Sweet Voice, isn't it? To air out what's too difficult to express with words alone.</p><p>Is that why Benrey uses it so much?</p><p>"Yeah, that's all it means… oh, are you asking because Benrey did it?" His eyes finally shift over from the gun to Gordon's own, making him wish he never asked for clarification and left their conversation where it was. Swallowing thickly, he stammers, coming up with a variety of syllables but no coherent answers. Eventually he settles on a dismissive scoff and a very forced eye roll.</p><p>Tommy tilts his head.</p><p>"Are you mad at him?" It's asked so earnestly that it almost pulls Gordon from his miniature emotional crisis. The slight whine to Tommy's voice punctuates his sadness—it's hard not to compare him to a child when he manages to sound like one at the least opportune moments, utterly genuine and vulnerable in the grief of his two friends disliking each other.</p><p>"... No." Gordon pries the word from his throat. Is he mad at Benrey? He definitely feels a cocktail of strong emotions towards him, but he's not sure "unbridled fury" is among them, evident in the way he lets him braid his hair and wrap him up in ten minute long hugs. "I bet he's mad at me though, huh? For not having my fucking passport, or— or vandalising company property during an alien invasion, or whatever nonsensical bullshit he pulls out of his—"</p><p>"Benrey likes you!"</p><p>That shuts Gordon up for a minute.</p><p>"... No he doesn't. Did he tell you that? Because he's lying." Can Tommy even process the gravity of what he's saying? Is he basing this off observation? Because who knows, maybe through his eyes, they're a functioning team of close friends who all love each other unconditionally. Must be nice.</p><p>He’s falling into that same spiralling, swirling feeling he felt wrapped up in their embrace. A nagging, growing excitement at the possibility of—of what? Gordon can’t put a name to where his desires lie. All he’s certain of is that he wants something, and every time he and Benrey are centimetres apart, he’s close to receiving whatever that thing is.</p><p>"Well… yeah… he said he thinks you're really— hmm. I should let Benrey tell you himself!" Unhelpful. Exceedingly fucking unhelpful. Gordon has to hold back a frustrated growl as he keeps his hands occupied by fixing his slanted glasses.</p><p>Yearning. He realises in that desperate moment that he’s yearning.</p><p>Gross. How old is he, again?</p><p>“I… okay. Thank you, Tommy. For the translation.” And not for getting Gordon’s hopes sky high only to bury them under the dirt in the same instant. Beaming, Tommy clasps his hands together in his lap without paying any mind to the exhausted sarcasm hanging in Gordon’s tone. As far as he’s aware, he’s done a good job. Tommy likes mean people, anyway.</p><p>Gordon finds the implication that he and Benrey both went to confide in Tommy cosmically hilarious.</p><p>Suddenly wracked with exhaustion, he yawns and shifts onto his side, head flush against the freezing basement flooring. His chest aches, a strange lump forming in the back of his throat. It’s trivial, he thinks, these childish feelings weighing down on him more than the fate of the universe. Benrey likes video games, and he likes action movies. Benrey smells of nothing but the faint dampness one might find in a cave. He’s good with his hands. He winds Gordon up because he doesn’t know how else to speak to him.<br/>Benrey makes him feel anxious, safe, terrified and elated all at once.</p><p>Filled with the sensation of the same spinning rotors of the device that landed him here, he closes his eyes, and runs his fingers over the plait curled over his right shoulder. Humming a familiar tune.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I honest to God don’t know what this is. I blacked out for a week and this appeared in my Docs. Weird how that happens!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Unfurled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw for unreality and another panic attack at the start! we in the shit now !!!!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time Gordon opens his eyes, his skull is met with a bolt of searing pain that carves his mind in two.</p><p>Part of him knows that this is a bad dream. The same lingering shred of consciousness that taps him on the shoulder when the flickering halls of Black Mesa begin to overwhelm him.</p><p>Grounding him. Tugging the string around his finger leading back to reality.</p><p>Reality. What a strange, subjective word, he thinks, met with a sharp bloom of agony just above where his elbow once curved. By all means, what he's feeling is real, making it a valid reality in and of itself. Considering the existence of another space where he's safe is more terrifying than the prospect of drowning in nuclear waste.</p><p>Dark curls are brushed back with his good hand, careful to avoid the plait that rests at the back of his neck.</p><p>Inhale. Exhale. This is his only “reality”.</p><p>Across the hall, his eyes catch Benrey's and something swells deep in the pit of his chest, threatening to bubble up and spill over his lips if he spends another moment with his eyes open. Benrey cocks his head in a way that might be endearing. Gordon feels another pulse. And it's real. It's undoubtedly, wholly, heart-wrenchingly real.</p><p>Honestly—who's to say what's real and what isn't, when everything he's experienced down here has morphed him into an entirely new person? Forming bonds, near death experiences, brutal mental and physical trauma, all shaping and twisting him, fingers dug deep into the curves of his brain to tear him open wide and vulnerable to the corrosive scent of metal and the sting of toxic waste on his skin. Yet despite his confidence, the sunken corner of his mouth twitches.</p><p>That comes with every simulation of this nature, doesn't it?</p><p>Gordon didn't even feel the brush of Benrey's hand against his own. Not really, anyway. That tiny, ever so persistent voice mocks him as he shakes with his head in his hand. Taste of acid pouring over from his throat. Buzzing static clouding his vision from where he's dug his whitened knuckles against his eyelids. His mouth opens but all he can muster is a cracked little sob torn from somewhere foreign in his chest. </p><p>Not real.</p><p>But it feels real to him. He blinks away the static, and sees Benrey still lurking by a sparking electrical box, and knows that he's real. As is the concern poorly concealed behind a raised eyebrow and a line for a mouth. Gordon gives him a thumbs up with the strength he can muster, noticing that he's slumped against the bent opening to a vent (how did he end up here?), to which Benrey responds with a thumbs up of his own. Clearly unsure, but Gordon isn't quite prepared to go into the specifics of his dealings with unreality.</p><p>Even if some members of their party have already caught on.</p><p>Worn eyelids flutter shut out of exhaustion over will. Gordon inhales sharply. Tastes something bitter on his tongue and humid, toxic air filling his chest. It leaves through his nose in the next moment, causing his nostrils to burn alongside his mouth. This is real. This is happening. He's present and he's feeling every atom of his environment.</p><p>Including the hand on his shoulder, forcing him to peel open his eyes.</p><p>"Hey. Gordon." It's spoken with such urgency that he feels like he's been smacked around the back of his head. More so when he registers the owner of the voice, and the fact that it spoke his name. This must be the… the second time?</p><p>"Mmm."</p><p>"You're Gordon Freeman, idiot. And you work at Black Mesa. And it sucks." Steadily, Gordon nods. Too tired to come to any semblance of a theory as to why Benrey is saying this. But it's helping. Whatever he's doing is helping.</p><p>He's Gordon Freeman. And he works at Black Mesa. And it sucks.</p><p>There's a hand cupping his cheek that he leans into without a beat of hesitation. Cold in the warmest way, pressed into hard like he's a particularly affectionate stray cat. Eyes sealed shut so he doesn't have to acknowledge what he's doing. Doing so would be far too embarrassing. No recovery from that.</p><p>A thumb brushes against the side of his bottom lip which he hums against appreciatively. Unfortunately his self control is currently absent, because his eyelids snap open the moment he hears Benrey mirror his sounds. What greets him is a blurry, lopsided frown and glittering pupils that should not be as blown out as they currently are. At least he can recognise what feeling Benrey is portraying, somewhat.</p><p>Concern. That's gross.</p><p>Gordon tears himself away from the display with the grace of a newborn fawn, coughing into his hand to force his lungs to settle into an acceptable rhythm, finding Benrey's palm against his face helpful and an obstacle all at once. Cooling down steadily boiling skin. He has no idea what his own face looks like—only that his cheeks hurt and his eye bags are strained, which must be one of the primary causes of Benrey's look of uncharacteristic pity. Great.</p><p>It's reminding him of earlier, when he'd had to clamber back inside the confines of his HEV suit—though the security guard looked more confused than empathetic, considering he didn't know such a bulky, buzzing piece of equipment could bring discomfort to its user. Still. Seeing any emotion on his face is strange. It isn't like him. Is Gordon in the right position to say that? They've only known each other for… how long ago was the resonance cascade? Has it really only been a couple days?</p><p>Bonding through shared trauma isn’t something he’s used to.</p><p>Breathing through his nose, Gordon squeezes Benrey's hand as tightly as he can manage without hurting him—which is impossible to gage when his reactions are rarely genuine. He feels a squeeze in response, lighter than his own, and takes it as a good sign. A thread from his earlier cascade of thoughts becomes tangled up in his current stream, and he reminds himself that he can't actually feel what's happening to him, despite his brain working very hard to make it seem that way. The realisation is so jarring that he physically jumps back from it, crushing Benrey's hand with a grunt in the process.</p><p>Once again, Benrey doesn't make any indication that he minds this.</p><p>Gordon lets his shoulders sag. Mindfulness. He was meant to start practising mindfulness in situations like these (is that why Benrey said what he did earlier?), but doing so is incredibly difficult when you're not certain if anything you're experiencing is real. Or, more like you are very much aware that nothing is real, but you don't want to acknowledge it. So listing off his very-not-real surroundings might be a bad idea with that specific anxiety hanging over his every thought. How irritating.</p><p>Whatever. That isn't going to stop him from practising the only coping mechanism he knows. The only healthy coping mechanism, at least.</p><p>"Benrey." He states matter-of-factly, voice fractured and raw.</p><p>"Wuh?"</p><p>"Sorry, I'm just… listing off stuff I can see. And feel. So I can ground myself."</p><p>"Oh, okay. Feet."</p><p>Gordon has to shake his head for his thoughts to rattle into place.</p><p>"What did you just say?"</p><p>"Feet." Benrey repeats helpfully.</p><p>"Feet? Are you—you're not meant to be the one doing the panic attack coping thing. I'm the one having the panic attack." Wheezing, he releases the hand in his grasp, eyes narrowed behind fogged glasses. "I don't like the implication that you were focused on my feet."</p><p>"Wouldn't be the first time."</p><p>Unbelievable.</p><p>"Unbelievable." He groans, because that's a thought that needs to be repeated verbally. Maybe if he expresses his frustrations enough, Benrey will be considerate enough to stop. That's what you're meant to do when someone is purposefully trying to wind you up, right? React in increasingly eccentric ways? Definitely what his school counsellor said.</p><p>Gordon has always been an easy target.</p><p>Maybe he should just continue, even if he feels present enough from that sudden rush of anger. Present enough to feel Benrey's hand snaking around his own again.</p><p>"Crate. Door. Tile. Ventilation grate. Uhm… wall." Their makeshift bunker isn't exactly rich with imagery. Gordon exhales through his nose. There's shuffling ahead of him that he chooses not to pay attention to, and suddenly there's something heavy pressing against his side, curled up beside his good arm fully intent on giving him no room for the Holy Ghost. Definitely not his goal, but Benrey's ignorance of personal space is helping his brain settle. Body pushed up against him in such a way that checks off both his desire for physical attention and his need for stimulation. Of any kind.</p><p>"... Benrey, again. Tile… again. HEV suit." Gloved fingers are flexed to emphasise the familiar constricting, weighted sensation. One he's come to despise despite it being the only thing keeping him from dropping dead. Sadly, his wit cannot take credit for that astounding feat. "Fucking, uh… I don't know. I smell blood. I smell a lot of things, actually, and none of them are good."</p><p>"Helmet." At this point Benrey could be speaking for either of them. Gordon can feel the hard plastic pressed into his cheek, something he's becoming more and more aware of, a death sentence paired with the faint sensation of Benrey's chest moving with his breathing. It's hypnotic. Endearing. Endearing? That's not the right word. "Floor. Fuuhh...fff… Gordon. Idiot bitch."</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"... Warm idiot bitch." Now that's endearing. Never in his life did Gordon think someone calling him an "idiot bitch" would cause him to grin so widely and so involuntarily. His expression snaps back the moment he catches himself in it.</p><p>Benrey's arm loops under his own, and he's sure he feels his pulse halt for a moment. Warmth bleeds from the point of contact to stain the rest of his body, settling thickly in his head and his stomach. Whatever he was thinking of before has now been replaced with paste. Every inch of his skin is tingling. How repulsive, he's smiling again.</p><p>"Why'd you have to put the fuckin'... suit back on…"</p><p>"Not sure I like what you're implying."</p><p>"Whuh? I just don't wanna feel like I'm cuddlin' a trash can, bro."</p><p>Gordon has no idea how to respond to that. Firstly, he was certain the both of them were, like, contractually obligated to never acknowledge their moments of tender closeness. The word "cuddling" should not be making his chest collapse in on itself and his gut simmer. Cuddling. They're cuddling. They're cuddling? They are. That's what this is. But it's fine, because that's what friends do sometimes, even if they aren't friends.</p><p>Daring to peer at his not-friend from the corner of his eye, he spots a thin, waving slither of black poking out from underneath his helmet. Jet against sickly pale skin. It takes him a moment to realise what it is, gasping when it clicks.</p><p>"You've got hair?"</p><p>That sounded way more normal in his head. Benrey turns to blink at him, expressionless.</p><p>"Sometimes."</p><p>Oh, okay. Gordon almost forgot that normalcy goes out the fucking window whenever they talk.</p><p>Despite the unnerving response, he's still fascinated by the mundane, resisting the urge to curl his finger around the loose strands to test if Benrey's hair is in fact real. The length suggests it falls below his shoulders, fluffy and light as it curls in on itself over his cheek. Blinking slowly, he imagines how Benrey would look with it down, and has to quickly erase the thought, lest he be seen smirking. Is that how he knows how to braid? According to Benrey, he isn't human, but the smallest glances behind his mask suggest otherwise.</p><p>Briefly Gordon considers returning the favour, should the security guard ever need to remove his helmet. Would Benrey enjoy it in the strange, wordless way he enjoys most things? If… if Gordon happened to run his fingers down the side of his face in just the right way, what colours would spew from his lips? A part of him is so invested in the way in which he communicates, that if they weren't fighting through the apocalypse, he'd be flicking through a rhyming dictionary beside a colour index. That's how it works for the most part, right?</p><p>Why does he care so much? It’d be sensible to blame scientific curiosity. So that’s what he marks it down as, ignoring the sudden unwelcome influx of desire.</p><p>This is nice. He'll admit that. It was nice before, having Benrey's body flush against his own when they'd been trying to disassemble his suit, so it isn't a new feeling, per say. It also feels nice to have Coomer's arms wrapped around his torso during their impromptu hug sessions, and Tommy's hand on his shoulder when he's listing off another rule they've violated. Surely this—this squirming, aching feeling is the same? Just a little more intense, for some reason.</p><p>Gordon swipes his thumb over Benrey's cheek as a mindless experiment, and immediately feels him tense under his touch as if burned. So he's about to pull back before Benrey whines—actually fucking whines—and melts into the gesture at his hip, forcing the full weight of his head into Gordon's hand. He's almost too baffled to notice the rumbling in Benrey's throat and the compulsive, jarring full-body shudder. At first he's worried he's made him sick.</p><p>Until he sees a stream of loosely formed shapes flow onto the tile in front of them, shimmering a brilliant golden yellow.</p><p>"... Oh." The same compulsion causes Gordon to mutter.</p><p>Fortunately, science makes no room for confusing feelings, meaning he can ignore his fluttering chest and pull up his mental list of colour palettes. Is the rhyming convention necessary? Is it really as precise as Tommy makes it out to be? Behind stained glasses, Gordon narrows his eyes at the slowly fading orbs, using middle school art class as a reference point.</p><p>Yellow means… hello? No, that makes no sense here. Amber is for anger? That doesn't even fit properly, and it still doesn't correlate with the mood—</p><p>A little gasp sounds from somewhere in the back of his throat when he latches onto a theory in the same bright, scrambling way he does whilst working. His bottom lip must be bruised from how hard he's been chewing it—a bad habit he picked up in school.</p><p>"... Lemon means you're in heaven? Is that close?"</p><p>What follows is the first instance of Benrey looking genuinely terrified Gordon has witnessed, observing in horror how his pupils shrink and goosebumps form along where his shirt sleeves have ridden up over his forearms. He might be hearing things, but he's certain Benrey's heart is thumping faster. Louder.</p><p>"Whaaaaat? What? Sorry, I can't hear you over your rank ass vibes. Fuckin'... stinking up the place." Benrey laughs, eyes wider than Gordon has ever seen them. The sudden tension hanging between them is almost enough to render him speechless.</p><p>"Sorry? That was just guesswork. I'm assuming gold doesn't mean you're nice to ho—"</p><p>"Hhhose down with acid? Yeah, actually, it does. Haha." Voice cracking, Benrey stumbles to his feet, patting down the last lingering lights of SweetVoice like he's extinguishing a fire. Grinning in a manner that leaves Gordon trembling, flashing too-sharp teeth with a laugh that sounds like it's coming through a busted microphone. He turns back to face him, as if to silently ask if his point was well made.</p><p>Gordon's complete and utter bewilderment proves it was. Though unfortunately, he knows Benrey well enough to put some other pieces together. An icy splint passes through the back of his skull, bleeding out into a full-blown headache at the revelation.</p><p>Tommy wasn't lying after all.</p><p>He calls out fruitlessly, "Wait, Benrey—", but the guard has already begun storming his way towards the nearest doorway, not quite able to maintain his balance as he does so. Meaning he stumbles face first into the lanky figure hiding there, obscured enough that Gordon didn't see him at first.</p><p>"Benr—"</p><p>"Blaaaaaaah!" Comes his monotone response, paired with a sharp nudge of his shoulder as he passes by unchallenged, forcing the shape to stumble into the light.</p><p>Fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of his lab coat sleeves, with large, brown eyes mirroring those of a Labrador's, Tommy focuses on anything but his co-workers. Tail between his legs, shoulders stiff. It's a pitiful display that steals all of Gordon's attention.</p><p>"Tommy…"</p><p>Startled by the sound of his own name, Tommy shrinks. "I'm sorry, Mister Freeman, I didn't mean to—to interrupt,"</p><p>"You didn't interrupt anything. We weren't… doing anything? Did it look that bad? How long have you been standing there?"</p><p>The way his eyes widen speaks volumes, nails dug into the tops of his fingers, chipping away at a layer of skin while his gaze settles on nothing. Impulsively, Gordon rises to his feet, and paces over to peel his hands apart before more damage can be done.</p><p>He inhales sharply through his nose. "Right. Okay. Well, regardless, you didn't do anything wrong. Benrey is just an asshole."</p><p>"Oh, but he… the things he was saying were all really nice…"</p><p>Gordon grits his teeth and considers pointing out the fact that Benrey has never been nice to him, but just nods in quiet acceptance with his palm pressed to his forehead. He pulls it down and over his eyes, glasses forced to the tip of his nose. At least he's present now—his earlier panicked frenzy replaced with frustration and quiet longing, among other emotions he isn't equipped to confront. Having your thoughts broadcast through sound and colour against your will must be a pain. What colours would his own feelings be if they were projected out of his mouth? He simmers on it as he makes several attempts to lean against the wall, each ending in failure, before Tommy steps in to stabilise him with a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>Oh, right.</p><p>"So, uh… any reason you were hanging around in the dark? Did you need something, or…"</p><p>Cautiously, Tommy smiles, as if he's afraid he'll overstep an invisible boundary by being chipper. "Uhm, Doctor Coomer and Doctor Bubby are waiting in the—the, the main cybernetics lab. We're gonna make—we're going to build you a new arm! Isn't that cool?" </p><p>"Cool" is not the word Gordon would use there, but he nods nonetheless. Mind wandering to plumes of yellow and gold while Tommy chatters on about something far less important.</p><p>Lemon means he's in heaven. Benrey… liked being close to him? Well, if gold means what he thinks it does, then that statement is undeniable. The lack of room for plausible deniability is leaving him dizzy. Cornered, even. Trapped with a truth he isn't equipped to confront.</p><p>"Mister Freeman?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"I—I asked if you're ready to go?"</p><p>Go where? Home? That'd be nice. Dazed, he nods, grunting in protest when he feels himself yanked forward towards the same doorway through which Benrey made his ungraceful exit. Has Tommy always been this strong? Sometimes Gordon forgets the scientist is ten years older than him, finding it incredibly jarring when he's reminded.</p><p>Head filled with static, he follows. Praying Benrey has already made himself scarce.</p><p>________</p><p>“My—my friend said that, um… you can make the Nintendogs fuck and—and have kids. With cheat codes.”</p><p>“Your friend was lying to you.” Gordon groans, shutting him down before he has a chance to spiral.</p><p>“Nah, man, you gotta… you gotta umm… put the special cartridge in. They had a special one—came with "Hotel for Dogs." I saw it on Dailymotion, you have to ahhhh, rotate the beagle—”</p><p>The wide barrel of a minigun, now permanently bound to his flesh, is thrust up against Benrey's mouth.</p><p>“Please. Shut the fuck up.”</p><p>Wordlessly, they trek through the deserted halls of the Lambda Lab, Gordon finding it difficult to support the weight of his new arm, stopping occasionally to rest while Benrey takes the opportunity to mock him. Maybe he's overreacting (he's definitely overreacting), but he can't help but feel as if his quips have been… more mean-spirited than usual. Venomous, even. Latent concern over his own actions always there in the back of his head.</p><p>Which is stupid, because anything he could've done to prompt this sudden change in mood would be justified. Benrey has been nothing but malicious to him, no matter what his little slip ups might say about his motives—which is something they still need to have a conversation about.</p><p>It's just hard to initiate one when Benrey doesn't take anything seriously.</p><p>"It, uh… it kinda sucks that Darnold didn't want to join us, huh? You think he's gonna be okay back there?" Gordon huffs after conquering a particularly challenging flight of stairs, tightly gripping the hinge of a steel door to keep himself upright, humming gratefully when Coomer offers an arm to lean on, the sleeves of his lab coat having been shredded miles back, not that he seems to mind. If anything it completes the whole aesthetic he's going for—not that Gordon can pin down exactly what that aesthetic is.</p><p>"Yes, it's quite a shame. But it seems our journey is already coming to an end." He chirps, clearing his throat. "Gentlemen, at long last, we've reached the Lambda Lab!"</p><p>"Dr Coomer, I believe we've been in the Lambda Lab for half an hour now." Bubby corrects, promoting absolutely no change in Coomer's expression.</p><p>"Gentlemen, at long last, we've been in the Lambda Lab for half an hour!"</p><p>With the continuation of Benrey's kill streak, a brush with teleportation, and a run in with Bubby's prototypes, Gordon only feels his blood pressure rise, to the point where he almost blacks out when Benrey mentions wanting to go home as if that hasn't been their goal the entire time. His right arm is raised, but his last remaining shred of self control thinks better of it. Not that bullets can do any real harm to an entity that isn't human and… probably isn't meant to be here in the first place.</p><p>An idea Gordon hasn't really dwelled on until now. Not that he wants to grapple with the reality of his job and his friends for a second time today. That's something that can be saved for a nightmare at a later date.</p><p>Luckily the neon blue light down the hallway and the frenzied chattering of his fellow scientists work well enough as distractions. He narrows his eyes at the flashing ahead of him. A familiar voice calls out from the back of his mind, reminding him that this is the point of no return, and his stomach curls in on itself. An already bruised lip is assaulted further, leg bobbing under him out of his control.</p><p>“You got PlayStation Plus?” Benrey asks another guard.</p><p>Do his friends know? Gordon doesn't want them to know. He doesn't want to take another step forward, in fact, dread smothering him like a thick blanket of ash. Inevitability and predetermination aren't ideas he wants to believe in, despite them being the very foundations of what this world is built on.</p><p>Perspiration shimmers between his brows. The most loose, infinitesimal reasons for pausing their progress are held firmly in his grasp.</p><p>He hasn't heard enough about Coomer's boxing days. He doesn't know how Tommy learned to create an immortal dog. Bubby hasn't explained the extent of his superhuman powers. </p><p>He hasn't told Benrey how he feels.</p><p>There's no way Gordon can cut things off now. He's about to turn around, announcing that they need to take another rest, before a slender hand shoves itself between his shoulder blades, practically flinging him forward over an invisible line. </p><p>Not given a chance to process who it was (probably Bubby, considering he's the most consistently impatient), the world flickers into a cool hue, and the dulcet tones of an otherworldly being overwhelm his senses.</p><p>Or… they should. That's what's meant to happen when his vision spirals like this, right? So why isn't he hearing anything but the sting that plays when time comes to a halt? He finds himself drumming his fingers against his hip, eyes darting around like that of a lost child's. It wouldn't be an unfair comparison to make—the feeling of being suspended in a frozen world is similar to the anxiety he'd have when he couldn't pick his mom out of a crowd at the mall. Maybe he should be a little more fearful?</p><p>"Come on, man… come out…" Gordon manages to croak. This has to be another glitch—the most prominent issue with this theory being that he wouldn't know how to improvise his way out of it. The longer he waits, the more constricting his armour feels, until it's as if his ribs have tightened around his lungs in a bid to choke him out. Like his body is prepared to give up here and now sensing that something has gone horribly wrong. Pulling the curtain over his eyes, so to speak.</p><p>"... 'sup, man."</p><p>Everything is suddenly very, very cold.</p><p>“No—no, that's not—" Rapid blinking ensues. "Benrey? What the fuck—come on!"</p><p>This is another bad dream. If he hits his head against the wall enough times, he'll wake up, right? Too bad he's paralysed from the waist down in this state, left with no choice but to stare ahead of him at the shape making its way around a corner. Wasn't Benrey just behind him? How did he—no, how is he—?</p><p>"You scared or something? Calm down, bro. Makin' me nervous."</p><p>"How can I be making you nervous!?"</p><p>An attempt is made at raising his fist that falls flat when he realises just how thick the air is. Gordon was never a great swimmer, despite it being nothing but using basic physics to your advantage. Takes too much strength to move himself through the water—strength that he doesn't possess. His valiant attempts at movement are snickered at.</p><p>“Hahaha... ‘s almost over. Sucks.”</p><p>Gordon pushes down the wires that try to build themselves in connecting coils around his brain. He swallows thickly.</p><p>“What’s almost over? What are you talking about?”</p><p>Frustrated, Benrey makes a point of rolling his eyes, losely gesturing to the ceiling, swirling his hand around like he can’t quite come to a concrete definition of what he meant. “This- this whole. Thing. All this shit. Almost done.” His face twists in on itself, narrowed eyes blinking rapidly as they bore into Gordon’s own. Defeated. Frenzied.</p><p>“A-and, and you’re gonna have to do the thing at the end of it, that—shit you do at the end of… you know? The big bad? The main—fighting the main, big…?”</p><p>“I think I’d understand this more if you spoke, like, coherently.”</p><p>At that, Benrey’s fury melts. Washing out into something like apathy, punctuated by dark, heavy eyebags and a kind of lazy grin that can’t hold itself upright. For once, Gordon is left feeling genuinely stupid rather than simply out of the loop. It isn’t often he’s out of depth in his line of work, so it’s… jarring, to put it lightly.</p><p>Benrey is staring him down, causing Gordon to shrink back into the padding of his HEV suit. The anomaly shrugs, producing something that looks like a book—a diary (is this something all security guards carry?), waving it haphazardly ahead of him. With a strong degree of carelessness he makes contact with the palm of Gordon’s impulsively outstretched hand. Handing it to him, more or less.</p><p>“Whatever, man. Just don’t be mad.”</p><p>He isn’t given a chance to respond before a sharp crackling bursts inches from his face, swirling into teal light, paired with a sound that makes his ears pop from a sudden flood of pressure. As if he’d been holding his breath, he inhales. And blinks.</p><p>Breathes.</p><p>Chattering resumes behind him, scents of gore and decay and the burn of unfamiliar chemicals pouring over his senses. Desperate, yearning confusion replaces whatever he was feeling before—what did Benrey mean? Why was his voice creaking with poorly detached urgency? Their encounter plays on loop in his mind. Gordon peers ahead of him.</p><p>Benrey hinted at something coming to an end.</p><p>Mouth dry, his gaze turns to the item in his grip. Weighty in his hand, bound by plush, navy blue leather. Worn golden letters shimmer on its surface that he has to take his glasses off to decipher properly.</p><p>He reads the text out loud to make sure he processes it.</p><p>“... Benny Photo Album…?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im so sorry the gman ps+ thing was really funny but i had to sacrifice it for whatever this is. thank you again for the comments they make me so happy i read all of them :')</p>
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